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Hollywood filmmakers, spare our canine friends

By Jake Coyle

Associated Press
Philly.com
Jan. 11, 2008

Dear Hollywood directors, producers and screenwriters:
I write you not as a man with a weak stomach, but as a sucker for sentimentality.

Though I am hardened against many of life's cruelties, one subject touches a frayed
nerve that, though small, has the power to instantly shatter an otherwise stoic front.

In your ever-churning industry of fright, terror, sap and schlock, you may do your worst.
Trot out whatever zombies, madmen or flesh-eating creatures of the night you will; I will
sit in the dark emotionless, barely batting an eye while my moviegoing neighbors
frantically employ outstretched fingers as blinds and sink their nails into distressed
armrests.

But please, spare the puppy dogs.

The death of a dog is the most toxic of emotional Kryptonite. Sure, I'm fairly helpless
when it comes to nostalgic baseball catches between fathers and sons, but the real
damage is done by movies like The Incredible Journey and Benji.

Yet my letter is not prompted by such heartwarming four-legged tales; it's your holiday
blockbuster I Am Legend. (If you haven't yet seen this movie of yours, beware of spoilers
ahead.)

As you are no doubt aware, in the film, Will Smith's character is one of the last humans
alive on earth. His solitude is leavened by one thing: man's best friend. His German
shepherd - Samantha or "Sam," for short - is his only pal and rides shotgun with him
wherever he goes, head happily stuck out the window, tongue flapping in the wind.

But in protecting her owner - no, partner - Sam is bitten by a hairless zombie. (There's
an ad for an invisible fence.) Despite Smith's best efforts, she quickly contracts the
rabies-like disease that has decimated the planet. When our hero is forced to strangle
his only friend with his bare hands, he can't even stand to watch her death, gazing
helplessly away.

And, oh Lord, ditto for me.

Alfred Hitchcock once said he erred when he suspensefully killed a boy with a bomb in
1936's Sabotage. Well, I like kids fine, but it's the dogs I can't stand to see die on the big
screen. It's an exploitation of pathos that should be restricted by law - or at least by a
"Curb Your Dog Movies" sign.

Take Gary Sinise's 1992 adaptation of Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men. It's not Lennie's fate
that really gets me; it's when his dog is killed that I become a blubbery mess.

As Byron wrote in "Epitaph to a Dog," a dog is "the firmest friend," while man is a "vain
insect!" ever asking forgiveness.

Or, to simplify, puppy dogs never hurt nobody.

Hollywood, in the name of Lassie, throw a dog a bone.

Posted on SHARE Yahoo group - Jan. 12, 2008